


through the forest and into the sea

by TheCoasts



Category: RWBY
Genre: Bumbleby Week 2019, F/F, Tomb Raider AU, you can picture blake and yang with abs as you read this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-06-30 12:24:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19853134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCoasts/pseuds/TheCoasts
Summary: "Her legs have never walked so slowly, her body so heavy. And finally, when she steps out of the building and the dust settles around her, she finds herself at the business end of an arrow, already firmly notched and aimed at her head with precision. She sees it flying towards her, hears the tip embedding itself in the wooden panel covering the wall behind her. And at the other end, fingers still hovering in the air near the slightly vibrating string, stands Blake."





	through the forest and into the sea

They’re both eighteen when they first meet. Blake wouldn’t have called it luck, back then. She remembers stepping into a clean room, windows wide open and fresh air filling the quiet space. She can hear students outside, and she sighs in relief when she realizes she won’t have to deal with an overwhelming roommate. 

Or so she thought; as Yang stumbles out of the door like she belongs there, her gaze falling onto the new arrival.

“Hi!” She isn’t prepared for the way the girl jumps, nor how she throws the nearest object that she can get her hands on --which happens to be a book-- that would have probably hit her in the face if she hadn’t been quick enough to dodge it. “Nice aim,” Blake doesn’t move, instead just stands there, eyes wide. “You should _definitely_ try out for the archery club.” Yang winks at her, brushing it off like nothing happened.

“Sorry for that,” Yang picks up the book, unfolds one of the pages. She smiles as she hands it back to Blake, “I swear, I don’t usually throw these at people’s heads.” She takes the book and places it on the bed. She can feel Yang’s eyes on her, and slowly turns back around. “I’m Blake.”

“Yang.” She grins. “I’m known for my quick reflexes.”

Blake rolls her eyes. “I’m sure you are.” She throws a quick look behind her as she goes to grab her bag. “And just so you know, I’m really good at archery.”

She sees Yang smiling out of the corner of her eye and for some reason, like the universe itself is pulling her strings, like she was meant to do it anyway.

* * *

When Blake was younger, she used to run to her father’s study as soon as she heard thunder outside. The noise would always be too loud, too close; nowhere in the manor she felt free from its grasp. “It’s just a thunderstorm, Blake.” But he understood her fear, and a cot was always installed in the room, behind his desk and between two bookcases filled with books about Remnant’s history.

Hidden behind his glasses, he would pretend not to see her quietly rummaging through the volumes –Atlas, Vale, Vacuo, Mistral, their myths and secrets. Sometimes, he would start reading his research out loud, and always felt content when he noticed her perking up at his words, listening to him rambling about secret artefacts and mysteries. “There’s always a part of truth in every myth,” he would tell her, fixing his glasses and smiling when she would nod. Three books open in front of him, another one resting on his knees, he would point to a particular image and wait for her to read the small paragraph attached. “And there’s beauty in the things we can’t comprehend, Blake.” Her gaze now going past him and out the window, she stares at the lightning striking the earth. _Beauty in the things we can’t comprehend_.

Later, she would still awaken during thunderstorms; no longer afraid, and watching it all unfold with all the focus someone her age could muster.

* * *

Now, years later, she’s not sure if she feels the same way. The wind makes the sand fly into her eyes, temporarily blinding her and she rubs at them, hoping to get the grains out quickly. She feels at her head and sees blood on her fingers.

“Yang?” She calls out in front of her, the darkness of the night making it impossible for her to see far ahead.

She’s completely disoriented and fear starts to grip at her. _Think, Blake. Think_. But her memory is foggy and her vision still blurry. The lightning above her head paints a poor picture of the place; mountains and sea is all she deciphers, no trace of the other survivors –if there was any to begin with.

* * *

When she had seen the offer for an archeology internship funded entirely by Dr. Ironwood and some atlesian R&D department, she had imagined something somewhat mundane. Being curious enough usually keeps her from being bored too much. The pay would be quite well and would avoid her at least a few shifts at the Jewels’ Bar.

 _How ironic_ , she thinks as she runs through the forest. Branches scratch at her face, and a knife flies past her head. _How fucking ironic_. She had never missed the loudness of the bar and its patrons, all drunk to the bone and the sounds of retching coming from the bathroom at the back as much as she does now. She almost longs for the atmosphere of Vale, and how suffocating it seems sometimes. But most important of all, she misses knowing that Yang is safe, either studying or working on her bike, humming some song she’s heard on the radio when she was getting ready in the morning.

She sees the man getting closer, tackling her to the ground. He puts his gun against the back of her head, making her instantly stop struggling to free herself.

“Get up.”

Once on her feet, he goes for the radio at his hip when a sound draws his attention. Seeing the perfect distraction, Blake goes for the gun, lowering it as fast as she can. He quickly recovers and bring his other hand around, closing it in a fist as it nears her face. The collision makes her falter but she doesn’t let go. She pushes him against the nearest tree, knees me in the groin. Elbows him in the face as he doubles over and drops the gun. He kicks at her, gets her on an open wound on her thigh that she most probably got when she was fighting against the current and treacherous waves after getting thrown off the ship. She bites her lip, tears threatening to fall due to the overwhelming pain. She claws at his face and he screams out. Blake sees an opening and takes it, sliding behind him and putting her arm around his neck.

“Don’t make me do this,” she pleads, her hands coming together, blocking the man’s throat against her arm, “Please,” she continues, but he keeps on hitting – she almost hates how easily she takes the pain in now, his punches slower and more spaced out, and she confuses the sobs threatening to wrack her body and the explosions far off in the distance –but still close enough for her to jump at the sound. His breath becomes shallow and his body heavier. She bites her tongue.

She lets him fall to the ground, and he doesn’t move. She doesn’t cry, doesn’t make a sound. Her mind screams murder and she can’t ignore it. _No one leaves_ , she had seen written in blood on the walls of the bunker as she was running earlier. One last look to the lifeless man, her eyes still wide from adrenaline and shock, and she knows it to be true. This island you can’t escape, and either the sea or the men will cause your downfall, lead you to your death.

She falls to her knees.

“Yang,” she speaks her name like it’s the only thing that she knows to be real and true in this nightmare she’s unable to wake up from. She knows Yang would have followed her anywhere and everywhere, but it doesn’t stop the guilt from slipping into her mind. “I’m so sorry.”

But something deep inside is too numb, too detached from reality. The island seems animated, evil, ready to tear her apart; and she doesn’t know if she can stop it.

* * *

Yang remembers the cold itself more than she recalls hitting the water. She doesn’t know where she was able to pull herself on, but upon noticing the guns pointed at her, she takes it the island isn’t as deserted as the crew thought it’d be.

She would try to fight her way through and away from them, but, as much as an optimistic as she can be, there’s no way for her to possibly avoid a group of that many people shooting at her before she can make it to safety. _Play along it is, then_. She raises her hands, slowly, wincing at the pain in her side. _Probably broken ribs._

It all goes black when the butt of a shotgun meets her head, and she hears Blake’s name through someone’s radio. _Blake._

* * *

“Stop running!” They’re still shouting after her, loud enough that the sound of the rain can’t even cover their voices. She shivers, sees herself tripping on a branch, rolling down the hill. She grabs at the ledge at the last moment, desperately digging her fingers into the small areas she spots. She presses herself into the side of the cliff as she can, hoping the small overlay of dirt above her head hides her enough.

“Where the fuck did she go?!” His frustration transpires through his voice, the certain edge giving it away with ease. “Search that way. Hurry.” He cocks his gun and looks over, down the cliffside. “Well, if that’s not a surprise-“

Blake expects a lot; although him falling to the floor with a thud certainly wasn’t at the top of her list.

“Blake, is that you?” She sighs in relief as she pulls herself up the side and back onto a safer, horizontal surface. Ilia helps her up, a wrench in her hand. “I think he’s just knocked out, so we need to leave now.”

Blake frowns. “We need to find Yang. _I_ need to find Yang.”

Ilia’s face visibly saddens, “Blake, we don’t even know if she’s alive.” She knows winning an argument with Blake is impossible when it comes to Yang; over the past few years, they’ve had their fair share of those, and she has never gotten the last word. Yang has been a tangible thing in Blake’s life for quite a long while now. She’s aware there’s no way Blake would go without her, even if her own safety is at risk. “Blake, I’ve fixed up an old boat.” She gently grabs her hand. “We can leave this island, find help.”

But Blake has already set her mind to it. “I’m not going anywhere off this place without her.”

Ilia opens her mouth to say something, but she’s already running in the opposite direction.

* * *

_They found him dead in the forest_ , says one of the guys on guard duty. They’re all sitting around a makeshift table, cards displayed in front of them. _They reported no signs of Grimm activity in that part of the island in years_ , and Yang immediately knows who’s responsible for their friend’s death. She smiles, knowing that Blake is coming for her.

She calls out to one of the guards, getting his attention immediately. He mumbles something and approaches the door, clearly uninterested by the entire situation.

Yang waits, patiently, until he gets close enough that she only has to reach through the bars to grab him by the collar of his shirt, slamming his forehead against the metal with enough force, turning him around and putting him into an headlock.

She searches his pockets while making sure the others stay clear off of her, putting more pressure on his throat when they move to get closer. Keys in hand, she opens the door and throws her closed fist against the man’s face as fast as she can, breaking his nose instantly. He clutches at it, screaming. She kicks him into the cell, slamming the door behind her.

Yang has never been one for gratuitous violence, but she knows they all have it coming.

She faces the three remaining guards, and with a challenging voice and nonchalant pose asks, “Who’s next?”

“Your friend in the valley will be dead by the time you escape.” He smirks; the implications of a silent _if you even escape_ isn’t lost on her. “You’re making a big mistake,” he sneers at Yang.

And that’s when she knows – when she feels the entire world slipping away, the earth disappearing under her feet, that she realizes the truth of what’s been the backbone of her resolve ever since they got stranded on the island. “Not when it’s about her,” her hands shake but she ignores it, quick to put aside the tremors. Maybe they’re in her mind, after all. This island has done worse, surely. “Never when it’s about her.” Later, she will clean her wounds and desperately scrub off the dried blood, rubbing her palms together and watching as the water turns red, angry and raw as it spills the tales of her days, unveils the horrors and split-second decisions she’s had to make.

 _It comes for you_ , she remembers the old man saying. _Who,_ she had wanted to ask at the time. The answer is crystal clear, now. The island will come for you, haunt your mind, plague your dreams. It will take and grab at you, at your heart, at your soul, and you will want to run in vain. _No one escapes, no one leaves._ She wants to look back but she doesn’t get to; sometime later she’ll ask herself if she’ll ever be able to again.

But right now, she needs to get out of there.

* * *

“You made me ditch class for…” Yang throws a look at the grocery bag between them as they walk back to their dorm. “Ice cream? And chips?” She takes out her keys. “I’m just saying, I never really paid you for the troublemaker.”

Blake laughs. “If I remember correctly, I heard _somebody_ complaining about not getting the day off this morning in the bathroom.” Her demeanor shifts slightly, her eyes showing nothing but concern. “Are you okay?”

Yang opens the door, throws her bag on the bed. “Yeah.”

Blake raises an eyebrow but remains quiet, not wanting to push. “Come here,” she says instead, her arms opening. Yang doesn’t hesitate and launches herself at her friend, her arms sneaking around Blake’s frame, slightly tugging at her jacket.

* * *

She hears her name, almost foreign in the unfamiliar and unwelcoming setting, but she would recognize the voice shouting out anywhere, beckoning her home. “Yang,” she mutters, her pulse accelerating as she picks up the pace, pleading whoever’s willing to listen to her that she isn’t hallucinating sounds now. “Yang,” she repeats, her name a mantra. “Yang”. The bow feels light when she lets go of the string, the arrow flying towards its target with ease, hitting dead center. The guilt is buried deep under growing concern for her best friend. “I’m coming, Yang,” she thinks as she quickly scurries behind cover, bullets flying past her head.  
One of them grazes her shoulder, and she lets out a pained groan as she slides down to cover herself behind a crate. “Son of a-“

* * *

Yang hears the screams of the men as she runs. “Get her!” She raises the shotgun, cocks it. Closes her eyes. Bodies thud against the walls, falling to the floor. She doesn’t stop long enough to try and assess which are her own and which are due to the frail building collapsing in on them. But from the way they cry out after she blindly fires a shot through the smoke and dust, she still manages to get an approximate idea.

 _No other way, no alternative possible to this bloodshed._ Her legs have never walked so slowly, her body so heavy. And finally, when she steps out of the building and the dust settles around her, she finds herself at the business end of an arrow, already firmly notched and aimed at her head with precision. She sees it flying towards her, hears it embedding itself in the wooden panel covering the wall behind her. And at the other end, fingers still hovering in the air near the slightly vibrating string, stands Blake.

“Yang?” She breathes out, lowering the bow. The sudden realization of what almost transpired seems to hit her as she runs towards Yang, only to back away when she’s a few feet away from her. She starts apologizing, “Blake.” Yang’s voice doesn’t let her finish her sentence. “You’re here,” she advances towards her best friend, pulls her into her arms. “You’re really.” She cradles Blake’s head, smiles as she feels her clinging to her tank top. “That’s what matters.”

Yang doesn’t tell her it’ll be fine, that everything will be alright. It seems useless. Empty.

“I’ve got you,” is all she says instead. That’s all they ever needed, each other; and the peace and warmth that only one can give when the other calls for it. “We’re together.”

Deep down she yearns for a different reality, for something else to come out of haunting vision, to free her from the restlessness of her situation.

* * *

Yang wishes her reflection was another person, an entity different that her own. She wishes she weren’t the ghost she sees as she peers into the water, cleaning her face and hoping to clear away all the marks; to make the image evaporate from both reality and mind. Yang remembers the last time she had felt like this.

Barely enrolled into their second year at the University of Vale, Blake had come into the apartment they shared off the campus, finding Yang sitting on the couch, staring ahead but seeing nothing.

Blake had then called out her name, in vain. Only her gentle touch seemed to pull Yang out of that state. She had told Blake about her mother – _Summer, not Raven,_ she had told her with a humorless laugh.

She speaks of Summer, of Ruby. Of her father, and she can only hide behind a wincing smile. Her uncle, who taught how to ride a bike. They exchange stories, anecdotes flowing between them, enough to fill entire sleepless nights. Random memories and sweet moments spill from Yang’s lips, like she had been waiting all of her life to speak of those.

From the way the words seem to fly out of her, Blake can only guess it must be true to some point.

* * *

They have a fight, one night, and it only ends when Blake sighs and Yang slams the door behind her, not glancing back. She barely recalls what they had been arguing about when she enters the bar and sees the man towering over Yang’s slumped form, close to her seat. She would almost laugh at him, _almost_ if she didn’t know the state Yang was in. She crosses the room, barely paying attention to anything else, focused on Yang, and Yang only.

“Come on,” she hears him say, “you’re not having any fun right now, all alone in your corner.”

“She’s with me, actually.” He turns around and she enjoys the sight of the scowl plastered onto his face. “I’d say it’s a pretty good time for you to get a cab home.”

He stares at her, processing her words before bursting out laughing. “Sure thing, lady.” She feels his attention slipping back to Yang and her blood starts boiling. And as he attempts to get back to the seat next to Yang’s, he’s met by Blake jumping in between them, who then proceeds to shove him back, anger in her eyes and resolve written all over her face. “He’s all yours.” She doesn’t stop to laugh at his predicament as he finds the bouncer behind him. All that matter is her best friend, who still attempts to grab the glass in front of her and- Blake gently lowers it. She throws a glance to the bartender who’s on shift tonight and he nods, instantly getting the message. _No more_. He makes his way towards them, takes Yang’s glass and swiftly signs how many drinks she’s had. Blake thanks him quietly.

“Are you?”

Blake stops and frowns in confusion. “What?”

“With me?” She replies, slurring the words. It almost doesn't make sense, but Blake understands it anyway.

And Yang turns to face her, and Blake can’t stand the look she’s giving her. She begs whoever is listening to distract Yang, to make sure they don’t accidentally slip into a subject none of them are ready to discuss –Yang is drunk and Blake is not; it’s a nuclear topic in the making and she’s not ready. Neither of them is.

She finds it preferable to avoid the subject entirely. “Let’s get you home,” she says quietly, and Yang doesn’t fight it. She found out long ago that some things are better left unsaid.

* * *

They’re nearing the rendezvous point; soon they’ll be in a boat and off this island, away from all the death and violence of the last few days.

“Ask me what I believe in?” Yang throws around in the dark, the emptiness of the cave carrying her words with ease.

Blake stares at her back. “What do you believe in?” For a second, they’re almost transported back to college, when their toughest issues where classes and grades and friendships. It seems light years away now, as they walk through the bunker’s entrance.

“I have a theory.” Yang announces, proud and sporting a smile almost as bright as the sun. _Like they’re happy and free, like they’re not trapped on some deadly rock in the middle of the ocean._ “I think I was born to find you. Long ago. Too long ago for any of us to remember the details.” She pauses, examines the picture of the object. “If anything, that proves it. Immortal gods shaping the fate of humanity? A world almost destroyed by their wrath? If we’re deadly serious about looking for a relic that’s supposed to only be part of a myth, then I can certainly get behind the idea that we’re always destined to meet someday, no matter who we are.”

Blake doesn’t need to pond over the idea that Yang and her have had their lives interlinked since forever. “I’m willing to believe it too,” she says with ease, as if just reciting something off a book. Yang smiles, and Blake knows an ancient and mythological relic will never be worth more than that. She tugs Yang around and brings her closer. “Find me,” Yang leans in, cups Blake’s face between her hands, careful not to brush over the apparent bruises on her cheek and chin. “Find _us_ in our next life, then. Don’t make me wait.”

Yang grins, and their lips meet halfway. Most would say they lose themselves when kissing someone they love; Yang knows exactly where she is instead. She knows everything there is to know about Blake, and kissing her feels exactly like coming home; if anything, she finds herself. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” she replies, and Blake knows she’s telling the truth.

* * *

Blake ditched her bed long ago.

One night, as the sounds of the city start to quiet down, she lays in the dark, her hands joined behind her pillow. The room is silent, the slight buzzing of the small fridge keeping her anchored to reality as she lets her mind wander back to a land filled with memories; painful and jabbing her, unable to escape the suffocating presence of loneliness. It’s only when Yang’s voice tears through the layers of things she’s been unable to repress that she realizes she had fallen asleep. Yang is by her bed, hands on her shoulder. _I’ve got you_ , she repeats in the darkness.

“Blake?”

She lets out a long breath. “Do you mind-“

Her voice is raspy, exhaustion pouring through every word. Yang can’t bear to hear it. “Of course.” She gets in the bed, slides under the covers.

“Thank you.” Yang wants to tell her there’s no need to thank her for that, that anybody would do it for someone they care about –but she realizes Blake hasn’t met somebody like this in a long time, and that maybe she doesn’t remember how it feels to have someone caring for you. “No worries.” She says to no one. Blake is already fast asleep, but now Yang is the one unable to rest.

* * *

  
They make it to the boat, and Blake sees Ilia sighing in relief from afar. Yang grabs her hand and start running. _No time to waste._ One look around the boat and it confirms what she feared; they’re the sole survivors out of the entire crew. Yang comes to the same conclusion, and she squeezes her hand.

* * *

Safety has a name now; she spells it with love etched onto each letter, something close to worship to any stranger’s eye. Blake knows that if Yang wanted, she could build a shelter out of her devotion. _In another life we never set a foot on that wretched island_ , Yang whispers when they’re on the boat. She closes her eyes as the ocean beneath the hull lulls them gently, Blake’s head resting on Yang’s unharmed shoulder.

Blake smiles. “You think we’d have found each other in another life?”

Yang doesn’t miss a beat, like she’s rehearsed that line all of her life. “I feel it.” In all of their lives.

She senses Blake inching impossible closer to her. Her eyes close and she readjusts herself. “I feel it too.” In the distance, the sky is clear over the island. The clouds are gone, and for the first time in days, she doesn’t feel the need to look behind her shoulder.

* * *

When they finally get home, it’s covered in bandages and with bags filled with antibiotics. It takes them a few days, but slowly they start to reacclimate to being home. _It’s like I never really left as long as I was with you_ , Yang wants to say. “Vale has never seemed so welcoming,” jokes Yang. “I’ll go buy us something to eat.”

It’s only two hours later, when she comes back, that Blake’s entire body seems to freeze. Yang’s nose is broken, her left eye is closed and she looks at Blake with absolute fear in her eyes. Blake, who snaps out of her stupor and crosses the room in two steps, asks frantically if Yang is badly hurt anywhere, if they need to go to emergency room. Blake, whose shaking hands receive the envelope Yang is passing her.

“I’m fine, Blake, I’ll be okay.” She licks her lips, grabs a tissue to clean some of the blood that’s still on mouth, having trickled down her nose earlier. “But you need to read this.”

Blake looks down to the envelope, grabs the letter in it, along with pictures. Pictures of Yang and herself, at home. Them, during a bowling night for Weiss’s birthday. Their apartment building. The manor. She puts the letter in front, reading it with an underlying sense of terror.

The letter describes in overwhelming details her father’s study and how he was killed, why he was killed. Why Blake had to grow up without him.

“They want the relic, Blake,” Yang says as she puts an arm around her waist. “They think you’re their best shot at finding it.”

 _The White Fang_. She can confidently say she has never heard about them before. They introduce themselves as people fighting for the greater good, but she doesn’t miss the way they seem to be the type to find the sentence “whatever means necessary” a strange concept to them and their ways of achieving things. She shivers as she drops the letter and pictures onto the table.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Yang nods.

“Nothing that won’t mend, I promise.”

“Let’s get to bed.” Yang suggests, and Blake agrees silently.

* * *

Yang holds her, whispering soothing words to her ears. Blake insisted on cleaning Yang’s cut above her eye. _I told you it wasn’t deep._ Now, they were both waiting for sleep to claim them, to allow them to get away from reality for a while. Their nights are hard, Yang would never lie about it. They both have frequent nightmares and it’s not rare for one of them to gently shake the other awake because they’re trapped in a particularly hard memory from that place. In a way, the writings were right. No one escapes the island –even if you manage to leave, its heavy atmosphere and bloody places still find you. Screaming and pained gasps are their nightly routine now, and they could only hope it would go away in time.

And when finally Yang’s breathing slows, indicating that she’s fallen asleep, Blake opens her eyes.

* * *

“I’m so sorry,” she says in the darkness, and it’s become difficult to breathe in the room. Yang is everywhere, on the pictures hanging on the walls, her scent dancing in the air, and the sleeping form in her bed. It’s almost suffocating, she thinks; the overwhelming wish to stay with her, contrasted to her need to keep Yang safe. She doesn’t say goodbye.

And when Yang awakes the next morning, all she finds is a slightly tear-stained note. _I’m sorry_ , is all it says.

**Author's Note:**

> yes there's a second and last part coming. i'm not a monster
> 
> sammy... thank u for supporting me screaming in ur dms at 4am as i was struggling my way through this


End file.
